


It's Not a Crime to Love What You Cannot Explain

by wrecklessrighter



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Crime AU, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Klaroline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrecklessrighter/pseuds/wrecklessrighter
Summary: Crime AU/AH. Detective Caroline Forbes has been hunting down Mystic Falls' Most Wanted for months now. As the newest detective to the squad, she has a lot to prove and taking down enemy number one is the best way to make a name for herself. Except getting tangled in the webs weaved by mob bosses like Klaus Mikaelson don't always lead you down the path you intended.





	It's Not a Crime to Love What You Cannot Explain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernutellastuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernutellastuff/gifts).



> I tried to do it Noir style but I think it's really just a AH Crime AU. Hope you enjoy!

Crime rates in remote towns like Mystic Falls rarely ever showed up in country wide statistical reports. They couldn’t glean enough interest from the outer cities to get the funding they needed to better their system. Those who survived the gang wars and the mob-like takeover and lived to tell the tale rarely stayed in the field.  
  
Detective Forbes was new to the squad. Highest in her class, most agile, and quickest to temper, she was eager to make a name for herself taking down the town’s number one most wanted. He’d been dodging them for years now, an expert at his craft. In fact, he was so confident that he made a spectacle of himself. Everyone knew his territory, knew the extravagance of what was behind the cement wall bordering his mansion. The miles surrounding it kept the locals at bay. No one ever wanted to step foot on Mikaelson turf. Those who did paid the price. Fear was a fantastic weapon for those who knew how to wield it.  
  
Detective Forbes wasn’t a big believer in fear.  
  
For months she orchestrated stakeouts, watching every member of his gang she could get her eyes on closely. The first glimpse of him she ever caught was the back of him. Blond curls. Black wool jacket down to his knees. Dress shoes. No slacks, but dark stain jeans. His stance was strong. He never moved but everyone around him bustled. He was in full command. And he knew it.  
  
The second time, he saw her. They locked eyes. The adrenaline rush was unbelievable. Good, she had thought. She wanted him to know he was on her radar. He didn’t look concerned, though. Instead, it was a patronizing recognition. He knew she was there and he was just indulging her with a good look at his face. She mapped it out in her head so she could remember to tell the sketch artist - thick brow; muss of curls with a wide hairline; sculpted cheekbones hollowed out by a defined jawline and angular chin with a tiny dimple; full, perfect lips with a slight pout. She could never get the eyes right. Hooded, definitely, but what was the emotion in them? It was indecipherable.  
  
Their third meeting wasn’t happenstance. He sought her out. At her home. It terrified the hell of out her, admittedly. He knew all about her - where she lived, what she did, where she went to school. He’d looked into her. Why? He was interested. Why again? He liked to know who he was up against. That sounded more plausible. She’d had every opportunity to pull out her phone, or better yet, her gun. Then again, so did he. He didn’t make it past her doorstep, but he promised it wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other. And he was a man of his word.  
  
Sometimes the freshest eyes to the scene see the most potential. Sometimes they’re just naive. 

* * *

The inside of the mansion always stopped her in her tracks; marble columns in the foyer; polished wood beneath her feet; hues of reds and golds in every room, blackened by the shadows; paintings and design right out of the Italian Renaissance. A hum of jazz beckoned her from the sitting room where he sat brooding in his chair, the self proclaimed throne of cherry oak from the 18th century, perched like the king that he knew he was. His hand wrapped around a glass tumbler filled with liquid gold. He must have heard her coming. Even three inches of heels on her boots were no match for the floors. He made no physical indication that he was alerted by her presence, instead his lingering gaze stayed fixated on the details of the Persian import covering the floor.  
  
She leaned against the door panel, watching him carefully. “Thought I might find you here.”  
  
“It’s where I reside,” he answered dully, his eyes finally lifting to acknowledge her.  
  
“Well I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to come back.”  
  
He smiled, cheeky like, with an infuriating head tilt. “Perhaps I just wanted to see you again.”  
  
She stepped down into the room, crossing her arms. “You do realize what’s going to happen here? You’re not getting out of this.”  
  
He downed what was left in his glass then got up and began to waltz in her direction. She took a cautious step backward, eyeing him with her hand on her holster all the while. Her heart pounded with every step he took towards her and just as proximity started closing in, he veered to her left. The brush of shoulders was barely a hair’s width, but it sent a shiver down her spine that made her fingertips grip the leather at her hip even tighter. He made no effort to hide the slither of his eyes along her body as he passed. Toying with her. He was toying with her.  
  
She stood rooted to her spot, turned her head over her shoulder slowly, keeping her hand steadily in place. He was by the minibar, nonchalantly refilling his drink as if there was no threat of her whipping around and aiming her gun at him to put two bullets into his skull. And one in his heart. Just for good measure.  
  
“What are you doing?” It slipped out before she could stop herself from thinking aloud.  
  
He ignored her and continued to gingerly pluck ice cubes with the tiny tongs and let them drop into his glass, and into the second one he had taken out.  
  
Clink. Clink. Real crystal always had a more distinct ring to it.  
  
He unscrewed the glass prism from the bottle of golden liquid that was nearing its end and filled each glass to the fourth. And then he was heading toward her again, glasses in hand. It was reflex that she had taken it when he forced it into her palm, his eyes connecting with hers all the while. There was no amusement or sense of flirtation, like there had been so many other times. He was regarding her, evaluating her as an equal? No. As a competitor? He was always wildly perceptive, a skill that gave him an edge and in his position it worked to his advantage. The hierarchy didn’t rely solely on hitmen. Manipulation was outstanding foreplay, he’d once told her, and psychology was key. _In order to best your opponent, you have to understand them.  
  
_ And yet she could never comprehend how she had gotten here. At his door. In his living room. And her gun still securely fastened. Years, they’d spent, tracking down the gang of criminals that had been wreaking havoc on their small town. They moved in the night, leaving their aftermath in the morning’s wake for the police to clean up. There were never any tracks, no traces of evidence. Suspicions - there were plenty of those, but until now she’d had no way to confirm that the man who had bedded her was the crime lord bane of her existence. He’d been under her nose - so to speak - the whole time, keeping her close enough to stave off any attempts to take him down. It would have been easier if he hadn’t been so good at pillow talk.  
  
And now he was comfortably taking up a centuries old couch, his arms sprawled across, one leg crossed over the other, whiskey glass poised against his knee. He had been watching her this whole time, waiting for her to make her move. Half of his glass had been emptied.  
  
“Here we are, then,” and there was a light quip to his voice that suggested he was back to being an asshole.  
  
She looked down at the glass in her hand and her brows furrowed in annoyance. She held it by the base and downed it all at once, the burning of the alcohol against her throat giving her pulse a refreshing jump and smacking her back into reality. She walked over and set it down on the coffee table with force.  
  
“Get up.” His eyes narrowed but he set his glass down and did as she asked. She inhaled deeply, maintaining her stance but unlatching her holster. Just in case. “Come around the table and put your hands flat on it.”  
  
“You’re normally better at foreplay than this.”  
  
“This isn’t a _game_ , Klaus. Do it now.”  
  
“We both know you don’t have it in your heart to shoot me, love.”  
  
“You wanna test that theory?”  
  
He smiled, genuine, with dimples and all. That was his tell. He could never hide the dimples. He rounded the table but didn’t stop, didn’t put his hands where she needed to see them. Her grip on her 9mm stopped him from getting too close. He sighed and hung his head, shaking it.  
  
“Things used to be much simpler, didn’t they? Before you knew who I was.”  
  
“ _What_ you were,” she corrected.  
  
He peered at her and the heated attraction between them rippled against the already crackling tension in the air. She swallowed against it, her whole body stiffening. For a brief moment, the present became the past. “Why did you lie to me?” Her voice came out gentle but the question was loaded, laden with the pain of his deception.  
  
His eyes widened and his Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. “I never meant it to go as far as it did.”  
  
“Then what was your endgame?”  
  
“I didn’t have one.”  
  
“You were toying with me.”  
  
“No.” He was adamant as all Hell in his head shake and she almost believed him. “I…” He huffed through his nose. “You were unexpected.”  
  
She let her shoulders drop and hid her face in a downward cast. Disappointment was all too familiar when it came to encounters with Klaus Mikaelson.  
  
“Put your hands on the table,” she pleaded again weakly.  
  
“Why?”  
  
She lifted her head up in surprise. “Because I _have_ to arrest you.” _Wasn’t that obvious?  
  
_ “You don’t _have_ to do anything, technically.”  
  
“You killed my partner's mother - ”  
  
“He killed my crew.”  
  
“ - among many other people!” She laughed out incredulously. “And your crew was caught in an illegal heist! He was doing his job!”  
  
“He was poking around where he wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t take kindly to intruders.”  
  
She braved a step forward, lifting her chin, so the distance between went from feet to inches. Her eyes narrowed in defiant slits. “I’m intruding right now. You wanna off me too?”  
  
He smiled. “There are plenty of things I want to do to you, love.”  
  
“Here’s the deal, Klaus. You’re going to shut up and cooperate. I’m going to take you in. You’re going to confess. And then you’re going to go away for a _lonnng_ time.” The bitter satisfaction in her voice was hard to hide. “Now, we can do this the hard way and I put a bullet in your kneecap. Or you can turn around let me cuff you."  
  
He hung his head with a wry grin then leaned in even closer, close enough that she could almost feel the familiar tingly scratch of his stubble of which she'd grown fond. “What are you more upset about, Caroline? That I bested you at your own mind games or that, despite your best efforts, you just couldn’t help falling in love with a criminal?”  
  
“You’re more than a criminal. You’re a murderer.”  
  
“By definition, so are you. Exactly how many bad guys have you executed, Detective Forbes?”  
  
“Killing criminals in self-defense isn’t murder.”  
  
“Is it self-defense when it’s an ambush? Or a set up? Or what about lethal injection? There’s no defense in that.”  
  
“It’s called _justice_.”  
  
“It’s called murder.”  
  
Her lips wavered briefly and she scoffed. “Turn around."  
  
“If I was such a burden of morality, why did you come back?” His nostrils flared, and his lips twitched with unexpected emotion for a mob boss. “If you knew what I was by that point, why did you return? And why didn’t you take me down then!?”  
  
“I was scared!” She clenched her teeth and looked to the heavens for just a sliver of clarity. “I was scared,” she repeated softly.  
  
His eyes were wide, and there was a flicker of some undecipherable emotion. “Of me?”  
  
“ _Yes_.” She couldn't frown any harder, her heart defying her head in a desperate ache. “Of you, of the things that you are capable of, the things _I_ might be capable of. Of losing my job. Or even...losing myself.” She shook her head and he could swear there was remorse in her eyes. “It got to be too big of a risk.”  
  
“And you think it wasn't a risk for me? My men are trained to sniff out a lie in an instant. Keeping this under wraps, keeping you safe from them – ” He stopped himself, mouth agape and eyes wide in shock at his own lips' betrayal. Caroline mirrored with shock of her own. Did the big bad wolf actually have a heart?  
  
She inhaled shakily, letting it out a slow breath. “We both knew what was at stake.” She reached down for her handcuffs and gave him one last weary plea of eyes. “The game is over.”   
  
He glanced down at the metal offerings in her hands. Giving him a choice was a kindness, but she should have known better. He looked up again with a devilish smirk and that's when his hand slid against her cheek, gentle at first but then it turned to a grip. He turned her head sideways, pressing his lips to her ear.  
  
“It's over when I say it's over,” he threatened coarsely.  
  
She circled her arms around his to break the embrace but he seized her wrists and pulled her to his chest.  
  
“You know I love a challenge, love.”  
  
“And you know I love to _win_.” She raised her leg to knee him in the groin, hard. He dropped her arms and doubled over with a groan, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself on his feet. His head hung, he panted in rage.  
  
“Turn around and put your hands on the table, Mikaelson! Now!” Her aim was perfect and her arms stayed steady.  
  
He lifted his head and sneered at the barrel of her gun and then, throwing her for the wildest loop of all, he surged forward and grabbed her wrist, forcing the muzzle against his breastbone.  
  
“Do it,” he challenged coarsely, his hands wrapped around hers, iron tight. “Do it!” he repeated, louder and with more desperation.  
  
But her breaths wavered and her arms began to shake. Damn the lump in her throat and damn the sting in her eyes. She wouldn’t let him see it. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting in her head. _One…two…three…four…_ Her finger gingerly touched the trigger but she couldn't pull it.  
  
“DO IT!” his voice shouted at her again. She finally let herself look at him again, through too much blinking, and that was when she realized she wasn't looking at a monster anymore. She was face to face with a man who had lost all sense of self-preservation and confidence. His deterioration was right before her eyes, stripping him of nothing but the desire to end his reign. Slowly she began to lower her gun, and he let her, never breaking eye contact with one another. She frowned sadly and reached to lay the gun on the table beside her empty glass. When she looked up at his confused face again, she shrugged.   
  
“Now we're both powerless.”  
  
His frown almost trembled before he hardened it again, never letting that vulnerability show more than a peek. He looked away in defiance.  
  
“You know,” he started carefully, “for most of my life I've spent my time chasing after cheap thrills in an attempt to quench this undeniable thirst inside me. Sex. Drugs.” He glanced her way again. “Murder.” He licked his lips and cast his gaze downward. “In a sense, I suppose, I just enjoyed the control of it all. Giving orders, living like a king. I was making up for lost time.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
  
“Because, Caroline,” he took her by the waist and she gasped, his breath on her lips, “I've never felt a bigger rush than when I'm with you.”  
  
His hooded eyes found their way back to hers, questioning – no, daring her to make her move. Her heart was thump-thump-thumping against her chest. Her rational mind was begging her to pay attention, but she was fully disarmed now and that was when she was at her most dangerous. She sneered and grabbed the back of his head, tugging his curls so that his neck arched back.  
  
“If you want to say you love me, just say it.” Before he could even consider her words, her lips were searing his in a fiery kiss. He growled hungrily as he kissed her back, his hands dropping to grab her ass in a hard squeeze until he lifted her, her legs wrapping around him obligingly. Her fingers raked through his hair as she lavished him with kisses and love bites as he carried her quickly toward his bedroom where the crimson pool of silk would engulf them, and they would, again, commit their greatest crime of all.

 

 


End file.
